Angel with a Shotgun
by siriusenigma
Summary: Crowley sends Castiel and Dean to a black-tie event undercover as a couple to obtain an item needed to defeat Amara. Neither are prepared to deal with their feelings for each other.
1. Angel with a Shotgun

**Author's Note: This is my first Destiel fic, so be kind. This has been a journey. For more than a year after beginning in this fandom I've been a hardcore believer in canon or canon-compliant fics only. Then I saw a Youtube video where somebody put all of the "Destiel moments" together, and I had this "holy crap" moment. Since then I've been a little bit more flexible, and finally I decided to write just a little bit of Destiel to compete with the hundreds of pages of non-Destiel fanfic I've written. Thanks to Pepper Pike & Midnight Oak, my beta's (I have beta's now!). Pretty sure this is your fault. Sort of.**

**This story takes place during Season 11, between Episode 6 "Our Little World" and Episode 9 "O Brother Where Art Thou?"****It takes place sometime around the episode with the zanna, "Just My Imagination."**

**I do not own Supernatural. If I did, it would be my responsibility to decide whether or not Destiel should be canon, and I'd probably die of the anxiety of angering one half of the fandom either way.**

Dean had been on what felt like the same stretch of road in Nebraska for two hours. It was dark, and it was late, and Dean was tired. Sam was asleep in the passenger seat, soft snores making their way to Dean's ears even over the chords of "Angel with a Shotgun."

Dean wasn't in the habit of listening to more contemporary music, but Sam had turned on the radio earlier, and Dean hadn't bothered to turn it off. He had to admit, he liked this song.

I'm an angel with a shotgun  
Fighting til' the wars won  
I don't care if heaven won't take me back  
I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe  
Don't you know you're everything I have?  
And I, wanna live, not just survive, tonight

The song reminded Dean of Castiel.

It had been nearly a month since he'd last seen Cas, and he privately admitted to himself that he missed the angel. He'd had no reason to call him back to the bunker, however, at least no valid one. He didn't consider "because you're my friend" to be a "valid" reason. Though they were friends – undeniably even _best_ friends, though Dean considered himself above such labels – they weren't the sort of friends that called each other to "hang out."

He wondered sometimes, though, if what they had was something different from friendship, or possibly much more. Castiel had pulled him out of Hell. He had rebelled for him, and died for him, _twice_. In fact, sometimes, Dean wondered if something would have happened between the two of them in Purgatory if it hadn't been for the presence of Benny, and the steady stream of monsters they had fought.

Something had changed between the two of them in Purgatory, though – that much Dean was sure of. Sometimes he'd caught Castiel giving him long looks, and they were different than the long looks Castiel used to give him. Once upon a time, Castiel had given him looks that clearly meant "I don't understand this human." Now, the looks meant… something else, something darker and more indecipherable.

And sometimes, Dean caught himself looking back.

Dean wasn't gay. He wasn't even convinced that he was bisexual, although he'd entertained the idea. He had always noticed when men were attractive, but he couldn't remember ever being _attracted_ to a man, at least not like he was to Cas.

Until after Purgatory, he hadn't sorted out any of these thoughts. Purgatory had been all about instincts, and if Castiel or Dean had an instinct to stare, or to sit or lay down together for comfort, it didn't matter, because there was no one to judge.

After Purgatory, Dean had immediately slipped back into the relationship with Castiel that he had had before Purgatory. This included rules about touching, and enforcing personal space. Castiel had shot him a hurt look on the first two or three occasions after Purgatory that he had berated the angel for his lack of personal space, but had said nothing.

Dean regretted that now. He had been scared, then, of himself and his feelings, and what it might mean. And, in the process, he had hurt Castiel's feelings.

During the year after Purgatory, however, Dean's feelings for Castiel had not gone away. He still anticipated Castiel's arrival. He still trusted the angel more than any other creature except possibly for Sam. He still had moments where he wanted to reach out and touch the angel on the shoulder or hug him the way they had in Purgatory.

When Castiel had lost his wings and sought out Dean for comfort, Dean had thought for a happy and terrifying moment that perhaps they would finally get to explore whatever was going on between them. But then Gadreel had made Dean kick Castiel out of the house, and the angel had been hurt, _again._

And perhaps it was for the best, Dean thought, because he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to act on his feelings anyway. Nor was he sure that Castiel could even _have _those types of feelings for him. It was true that Castiel acted more human now than he used to, but there were still moments where Dean was reminded that the angel was far more powerful and far less human than the vessel of Jimmy Novak made him appear.

The only thing Dean knew for sure was that feelings in general were uncomfortable and annoying and best drowned in whiskey. It had taken him the better part of a year after Purgatory to admit to himself that he was attracted to Cas. The two of them certainly didn't have time to navigate this… this _thing_ in between their busy schedule of saving the world.

"Hello, boys."

The Impala swerved first into the other lane and then nearly into a ditch, but Dean managed at the last second to curb his surprise and steer her back into the appropriate lane. Meanwhile Sam, who had been asleep in the passenger seat, gave an almighty snort and swung around, gun in hand.

"I am perfectly capable of _driving _to a meeting point _myself_," Castiel was snapping from the back seat of the Impala, waving Crowley's hand off of his shoulders. "I didn't need demon transport. That was _completely _unnecessary."

"Sorry I ruffled your feathers," Crowley snapped as Sam lowered his gun slightly. "But I _did _tell you the matter was rather urgent."

Dean pulled over to the side of the road, still recovering from the shock of Crowley and Castiel appearing in his back seat. He pulled his gun out, stabbing at the stereo with his elbow to turn off whatever song had come on after "Angel with a Shotgun."

"Crowley, you've got two seconds to tell me what this is about before I put even more holes in your meat suit," he said gruffly.

"Hello to you too, _ex-_Bestie," Crowley sneered, straightening his tie. "Hello, Moose."

Dean unlatched the safety, though he knew he would never shoot Crowley and risk damaging the Impala unless Crowley actually posed a threat. Unfortunately, he had a feeling Crowley was banking on this.

Still showing no sign of fear or even hurry, Crowley said, "Are you boys still interested in some firepower to use against Amara? Because I've got a lead on the Staff of Moses and the Rod of Aaron."

Castiel's eyes widened. "These are the property of angels and wield great power. You must take me to them."

"Ah-ah-ah," said Crowley, waggling his finger in Castiel's face. "Not so fast."

"What do _you_ want them for?" asked Sam, speaking up for the first time from the passenger seat.

"My own personal protection," Crowley said.

"You mean since your attempt to be Amara's 'Daddy' went south?" asked Dean snidely.

"It was going swimmingly until you came along," said Crowley. "I notice she's still at large, despite being alone in a room with you."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Crowley put up his hand. "The point is, we're all on the same side now. Now I'd like both the Staff _and _the Rod, obviously. But, I'm willing to settle for one. Seeing as we'll both likely be using the Staff _and _the Rod against Amara, it hardly matters."

"No," said Dean, still holding the gun on Crowley. "I'm not making anymore deals. Not after the Mark of Cain."

Sam looked like he was about to protest, however, and so did Castiel.

Crowley, taking note of this, said, "I'll drop back in in two minutes. That'll give you time to decide." And he disappeared.

Dean lowered his gun.

"Dean, we might want to think about this," said Sam. "I mean, it's not like we have a whole ton of other options against Amara."

Dean looked at him sharply. "You're not still thinking about…" Lately Sam had been having visions of the cage, with Lucifer inside. Sam had begun to voice the opinion that perhaps God was trying to tell him that Lucifer might be helpful with ridding the world of Amara. Dean knew both of them would choose any option that wasn't _that _option.

Sam nodded solemnly, and Dean sighed.

"The weapons _could _be helpful against Amara," Castiel said thoughtfully. "Seeing as she's _God's sister_, it would be extremely helpful to attack her with something as powerful as God himself. The Rod of Aaron and Staff of Moses were some of the most powerful weapons in our collection until they were lost." He said the word "lost" as though the thought disgusted him. "Balthazar said he had them, but we never found them with his weapon supply. He must've either pawned or sold them."

Dean had the annoying urge to reach out to the angel like he would've done in Purgatory, but he resolutely held his arm still.

"So, what'll it be, boys?" said Crowley, appearing in the car again suddenly and causing Castiel to move backward in alarm.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

Once Dean had parked the Impala at a $29-a-Night motel, Dean felt the pull behind his navel that he recognized as a demon's form of teleportation.

The first thing Dean noticed upon opening his eyes was that they were in a vehicle – a _nice _one. It was easily the most upscale vehicle he'd ever been in, and Dean quickly identified it as a limosine.

Outside of the limo was a parking lot filled with cars that made Dean's mouth drop into a silent "O." He saw a Rolls Royce, three Porsches, a Corvette, a Lamborghini, and two Jaguars. He immediately decided that he wouldn't trade any of them for his Baby, though for once he was almost tempted. Some of the cars were less sporty and more utility, but no less expensive. There were also a few other limos scattered around the parking lot, and more that were pulling up and letting out passengers.

The second thing Dean noticed was that it was no longer the last few dark hours of the morning; instead, it appeared to be the last few light hours of the day.

Dean looked further beyond the parking lot. At the other end of the lot stood a sprawling building. It was clearly an old building, though it appeared in perfect repair. It was the only building for as far as the eye could see, and was surrounded on all other sides by lush, manicured landscaping.

The door to the large building was covered by three men in uniform, but it wasn't a uniform Dean recognized.

Dean squinted to see farther into the distance. The uniformed men were using some sort of scanner on two women entering the building hand in hand. One of the women was rather stocky and wearing a long, blue evening dress. The other was almost too thin and wearing a tux. Another couple, a man and a woman this time, got out of another limousine beyond Dean and headed to the large door of the building.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," said Dean finally. "A _black tie event_?"

"What's wrong with black tie?" asked Crowley, who was holding two black suits out to Dean. "You two dress up in suits all the time, pretending to be 'Agents Timberlake and Fatone,' or 'Agents Styles and Horan.'" Crowley used air quotes.

"I didn't think you liked boy bands, Dean?" Castiel said innocently, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't," Dean said, gritting his teeth and separating the suits from the hangers. He was starting to wonder if he had liked Castiel better before Metatron had uploaded the world's entire compendium of pop culture references into his head. "I have _definitely _never gone _anywhere _as 'Agent Timberlake.'"

"Where's my suit?" interrupted Castiel, eyeing the two suits in Dean's arms.

"And I have no problem wearing a suit," Dean added, checking the tags on the first suit. "But the people at these black-tie events always have long noses that they keep in the air and little dogs that fit in purses and yap a lot."

"Well, be careful of the little dogs," Crowley said, "but the noses in the air will hopefully help them to not notice that we're not who we say we are."

"This suit isn't long enough for Sam," said Dean, holding the second suit out to Crowley.

"Sometimes I wonder why I continue to work with you flannel-wearing blockheads," said Crowley, tossing the second suit to Castiel. "The second suit is for the angel."

"Then why am I here?" asked Sam.

"Dunno, Moose," said Crowley. "Mostly because if I'd left you back at the fleabag motel with the Impala, Dean would've thrown a fit that would've cost us valuable time. But there's nothing for it. Do you see that?"

Castiel and Dean both stopped taking off their jackets to look where Crowley was pointing. Dean followed Crowley's finger to the front door. There was a metal detector, which already made Dean wary because it meant he couldn't bring any of his weapons. Additionally, Dean realized that there were at least two machines run by the men in uniform that looked unfamiliar, despite the fact that Dean knew his way around most normal security.

"That machine identifies even the _tiniest _drop of demon blood," said Crowley, "and then you're out on your giant flannel rump. Which, of course, makes Moose here utterly worthless."

"And you," Dean said. "That's why you need us."

"Ten points to Captain Obvious," said Crowley with a slow clap.

"What about the back door?" asked Dean, taking off his shoes. "The windows?"

Crowley shook his head. "Warded from the outside against all magic," he said. "_And _locked with deadbolts, all of them. My source inside says they've got an armed security system as well. Hurry up, you two, we haven't got all day. Here, I'll speed things along."

Crowley snapped his fingers, and suddenly both Dean and Castiel were wearing black dress pants and dress shoes along with their flannel tops. Their previous pants and shoes sat folded on their laps.

"Don't. Ever. Undress me. Again," said Castiel, looking around for his black suit. A second later, Castiel took off his shirt. All three men averted their eyes, though Dean only pretended to do so. He admired his friend's chest and muscles as long as he dared before turning to his own suit jacket.

"How are they going to get out?" asked Sam.

"Through the front door, ya moron," said Crowley. "That's the beauty of my plan. It's completely above board, until tomorrow when they realize that the credit card I just gave you is a fraud."

"Naturally," said Castiel gruffly, now fully dressed in a suit and attempting to arrange his bowtie.

"So what are we looking for?" asked Dean, pulling on his own suit. "What's the game-plan?"

"It's an auction," said Crowley. "The host is T.L. Laurent, France's greatest collector of the mythological. Fortunately my source has said he's a little behind the times in terms of angels, and that it's only demons he knows how to ward off."

"Don't!" Castiel warned the demon, who had held up his hands to magically assist Castiel with his bow-tie. "I'll do it myself."

Crowley shrugged. "Each to his own." He held out a wallet to Dean, along with a printed invitation. "Like I said, it's all above board, at least until tomorrow."

Dean rolled his eyes. "What specifically are we looking for?" he asked.

"Ask Feathers," said Crowley, handing a second wallet to Castiel, who had finally given up on fastening his bow-tie by hand and had magicked it into place.

"I'll know it," said Castiel.

Dean was busy looking at invitation, and the words on the page suddenly made him feel as though his heart were pumping twice as fast. "This invitation is for Sir Walter Cannon Jr. and his husband, James Carmichael III."

"Husband?!" Castiel said, looking alarmed.

"Well, I mean, it's not exactly a stretch," said Crowley.

Both Dean and Castiel began to protest. Dean said, "How dare you-…"

Castiel said "Just because-…"

Sam had started to snigger.

Crowley said, "Quiet! Look, you've wasted too much time. The guards are looking to close the doors. Hurry up!"

Castiel gave a reluctant but agreeable look to Dean and opened up the door.

"Why did you have to go and make us a couple?" Dean snapped at Crowley. "I mean, we'll be the only gay couple there… we'll stick out!"

"Contraire, Rodent," said Crowley. "It's a couple's party, and the host is gay. You won't be the only ones. Plus you certainly look the part. C'mon, Moose, you can hitch a ride back to the hotel with me, just this once." He waved his fingers at Dean. "Bye-bye!" and he disappeared.

Dean stepped out of the limo and looked at Castiel, who was giving him a forlorn look in return.

"C'mon, Cas," he grumbled, and stomped toward the door.


	2. Angel Amore

**Author's Note: I don't own Supernatural. The CW owns them legally, but I'm pretty sure that Eric Kripke owns them in every sense that matters. Or maybe Andrew Dabb these days. **

It took nearly ten minutes to get through security. Dean felt naked without any weapons, without even his proper ID, and he could tell that Castiel felt the same way.

Finally, the two of them walked into a large hallway. "Right this way," said a portly looking man. "Mr…"

"Cannon," Dean said, adopting what he thought was a regal air. "Walter Cannon, Jr. And my h-husband, Ca-James Carmichael the third."

Dean looked at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. Castiel was wearing a somewhat frightened look, and looked away quickly. Dean wasn't used to his friend acting this way. Why was he being so skittish? Was it because of the black-tie event? The undercover mission? No, there was no reason for Castiel to feel uncomfortable with either of those things. Was it the same reason he was feeling uncomfortable? The insinuation that they were married?

The portly man didn't seem to notice their awkwardness. "Ooooh right this way, sir!" he said. "It's an honor to meet you. All the way from America! Mr. Laurent will be so happy!"

The portly man swept away, and Dean and Castiel followed him down a long hallway into an open ballroom. The ballroom contained several large tables, at which sat over 30 couples of what looked like all nationalities. Dean could immediately pick out at least three other same-sex couples of the male variety and two female, so Crowley had been right – they didn't stick out, after all. A few of the couples were standing and talking to other people at other tables, but most were seated.

The portly man gestured to two open spots at one of the tables. "Here we are," he said. "I'm Mr. Thomas. If you need anything, please feel free to let me know." And he swept away quickly.

Dean took his seat at the table in front of a placard proclaiming his fake name, and Castiel took his seat next to him. The man on his left was very large, and so Dean was forced to scoot uncomfortably close to Castiel. The two of them would bump elbows during their upcoming meal, Dean could already tell.

Next to the large man sat the thinnest woman Dean had ever seen in his life. She was Indian, and she was flanked on one side by a very large and very beautiful service dog, a German Shepard. This, Dean realized now, was the reason that the seats were so close together – the German Shepard took up more than one seat at the table.

The other two seats at the table were taken up by two handsome-looking men that were talking animatedly to each other.

"That's a beautiful dog," said Castiel to the woman.

She smiled. "Thank you very much, Sir," she said in a thick Indian accent. "I'm blind as a bat you know, but he is my eyes."

"Have you, um… have you heard anything about the auction?" Castiel asked her with a sideways glance at Dean. "Have you seen what's up for sale?" Dean was reminded suddenly how close Castiel was, less than an inch from him, and his heart flipped over.

"Oh, no," said the large man on Dean's left. He was African-American, and had a very deep voice. "We eat first. Then there is dancing and we can view what's for sale."

One of the handsome men across the table spoke up. "It's not how these things are typically done," he said, seeming apologetic. His accent was slightly French. "But Timmy's always said he doesn't care what others do. This is his passion, and he'll host the auctions and his parties how he pleases. And the donors don't care, of course, because it brings a crowd."

"You know him?" asked Castiel.

"Yes, Timmy was my first love," said the handsome man. "Before I found this bundle of joy, of course!" He held up the hand of the other man, who smiled. "I'm Justin Chastain-Boucher," he said, "and this is my husband, Tyler." The other man waved and shot the group a perfect grin.

"I'm James Carmichael," said Castiel. "And this is my husband, Walter Cannon." He put his arm on Dean's shoulder tentatively, imitating Justin and Tyler's public display of affection. Dean's heart seemed to stop in his chest.

As Castiel and Justin continued to talk, Dean eyed the drink that was on the table in front of him. Perhaps it was time for some liquid courage. He didn't recognize it – it looked like champagne, but with a silver tinge.

"What's this drink?" he asked Justin, more gruffly than he intended.

"No idea," said Justin. "But the drink is always Timmy's gift to the audience. I honestly don't know where he finds these things – some medicine woman, I think. Tyler thinks the drinks are just good marketing, but I'm convinced they work. Two years ago, the drink was supposed to give us just a bit of speed. It felt like I was zipping around everywhere, I had so much pep in my step! And last year, it made me very calm – not sluggish, just very happy. This one seems to do the same, I think, as I do feel a bit calmer and happier than when I walked in."

"He is just open to suggestion," said Tyler, who had an even thicker French accent than his husband.

Calming and speed were both things that Dean needed at the moment. He took a slow drink, just as Justin turned back to expound to Castiel about the things that had been rumored to be at the auction.

"There's rumored to be something called a demon knife," said Justin. "I've never seen one, but Tyler has." The two smiled at each other sappily, and Dean took another drink. "It's rumored to kill demons where normal knives will not."

"I've seen one," said Castiel. "It is effective."

Dean kicked Castiel under the table. "As a knife, he means," said Dean. His arm shot out, as if on its own, and put his arm around Castiel in his desperation to cover for his friend. "I own one, and it works just as well as a regular knife."

Castiel shot Dean a look of surprise, though the other couple didn't catch it.

"You have one?" Tyler asked excitedly, his voice becoming higher. "Wow! They're really rare! You must be a serious collector!"

"It's one of my, ah, few pieces," Dean lied.

"Have you heard of anything else that might be in the auction?" asked Castiel.

Dean gave him a small pat on the back, thankful that he had changed the subject. He froze. What was _with_ him? He hadn't been this touchy-feely with anyone in years – not since Purgatory, where the monsters and the lack of human interaction made it necessary. Granted, it didn't help that due to their close proximity it was almost harder _not _to touch Castiel than to do so.

Dean sighed, and took another long swig of his drink. He was disappointed to realize he had emptied his glass, and poured a new glassful from the decanter on the table.

At that moment there was the loud screeching of a microphone, and the crowd's attention was drawn to the front of the room. A very tall, thin man was attempting to make a microphone reach his height. He finally gave up and simply leaned over into it. "Hello all, and welcome to my Mythos Supper and Auction Party! I'm Timothy Laurent, though most of you know me as 'Tim' or even 'T.L.' I'd like to thank the British, American, and Spanish Antiquities Associations, as well as a great number of independent donors – you know who you are – for donating to this auction. Remember, though the auction is being held at my home, please don't be surprised if I outbid you. It is with the utmost respect."

Several of the audience laughed.

T.L. Laurent smiled. "Anyway, the night is young, and we are here for more than just the auction. Please take the chance to get to know your neighbors at the table, as we all have our passion for this type of antiques in common, which is arguably the most important thing. We've prepared a lovely supper for you, so eat up.

"And one more thing!" T.L. Laurent smiled. "As usual, the drink on the table is my gift to you! They call it 'Angel Amore', and it's rumored to have some of the qualities of an aphrodisiac."

Dean froze, his glass at his lips. He heard Castiel make a sharp "_Oh!"_ sound next to him.

"Don't worry, it's not _serious_," said T.L. Laurent. "It's not like Viagra. It will simply calm you down a bit, and should make you all the more keen to cherish your partner in the ways they should be cherished."

A few people in the audience were breathing sighs of relief, but most of them were either laughing or else looking at their partners with sappy looks like Justin and Tyler.

It explained a lot, Dean thought. He hadn't felt quite so motivated touch Castiel openly since Purgatory, and he certainly hadn't felt the freedom to do so until tonight. Perhaps this drink was a blessing in disguise, a sort of social lubricant that might finally bring to light this "thing" that had been growing between them for so long. He shot Castiel a shy smile.

Castiel looked first at Dean's glass, which was once again almost gone, and then at Dean's face. He looked horrified. Dean suddenly felt indignant. What the hell was wrong with Castiel? So what if he had drank an aphrodisiac? Was the thought of being touched by Dean so horrifying? It wasn't as though Dean was going to lose control. Did Castiel think that low of him?

He was certain that they had connected with each other in Purgatory, and that something had been brewing between them for quite a long time… so why did Castiel seem so disgusted?

Perhaps Dean was overreacting.

The first course of dinner was something that Dean placed squarely into the category of "rabbit food". Two minutes in, Dean felt Castiel's eyes on him he as carried on a polite discussion with the Indian woman (whose name he learned was Prisha) regarding American customs. When he looked back at Castiel, however, the angel averted his eyes. Dean caught his hand halfway through the air to reach out to Castiel before he yanked it backward, awkwardly slamming it on his own chair.

A minute later, Dean accidentally bumped into Castiel's knees due to their close proximity. A rush of pleasure shot through him at the contact, but Castiel moved back the other direction and shot him a brief put-upon look.

"How did you guys meet?" asked Tyler near the beginning of their second course (something Dean couldn't pronounce).

Castiel looked at Dean helplessly, making eye contact for the first time since the beginning of dinner.

"We, ah, worked together," said Dean.

"Oh?" said the large African man, whose name (they had learned) was Imamu Jahar. "What business?"

"Hunting," said Dean without thinking.

Justin nodded. "Interesting," he said, but he wrinkled his nose.

Tyler touched Justin's shoulder, and they shared a commiserating look, as though Dean had offended them both. "Like… like Duck Dynasty?"

"A bit," Dean said, deciding not to press further into that subject. He didn't really want to talk at all, but he also didn't want to appear rude. "We met at work, but after awhile we realized we both had a passion for the mythological," Dean said, drawing on a subject he knew they all could understand. "We're both collectors. And that's when we really got serious." He shot Castiel what he hoped was a convincing smile, and the angel returned a grimace.

"That's wonderful!" said Justin and Tyler at once, and they both resumed discussion about the items that might be for sale at the auction. Dean relaxed into silent indignation at Castiel's attitude.

Three minutes after that, Dean spotted one of the uniformed men open a door across the room. He could see from beyond the doorway that the newly opened room was full of glass cases. Another uniformed man joined the first man and blocked both the entrance and the view, however. Dean nudged Cas, who was finishing a conversation with the larger man.

Cas looked panic-stricken in Dean's direction as though he had been burned. Dean nodded his head at the newly opened room, and Castiel followed his gaze.

"That's the room with the auction pieces," said Justin, who had also noticed Dean's movement. "Um, are you guys okay?"

"Yes," said Dean and Castiel at the same time.

"James hasn't been feeling well," said Dean. He gave Castiel's shoulder a reassuring squeeze just to make it convincing, trying not to admire the tops of his friends' biceps that he could feel even through the suit. Castiel didn't move, but his fist clenched under the table.

"I'm still recovering from a minor cold," Castiel added dully.

By dessert, Dean thought he was beginning to see signs of the aphrodisiac in a few of the other couples around them. He noticed slight pecks on the cheek, and couples staring into each other's eyes. Imamu Jahar was holding his wife's hand under the table.

Justin and Tyler looked like they were about thirty seconds from going out to the parking lot to have sex, although they were fairly toucy-feely regardless. Even if Dean ever started a relationship with Castiel, he couldn't imagine a situation where he would ever show that much PDA.

It occurred to Dean with a shock that he'd never actually thought about a relationship with Castiel before, at least not in that way. In his mind, Dean had referred to his attraction to Castiel as "that thing between them." Even when he had touched himself to thoughts of Castiel, which had admittedly happened a fair few times, he had never really considered a _relationship._

He imagined Castiel sitting next to him at the table like Justin and Tyler, their knees bumping companionably as they occasionally smiled at each other sappily. He imagined Castiel shirtless and his hair mussed from sex…

Dean felt himself begin to harden.

He peeked at Castiel, his face reddened slightly, and found that Castiel had moved a good six inches to his right and was practically sitting on Tyler's chair. In fact, the only reason that Tyler hadn't noticed was that he and Justin were sitting practically in each others' laps.

"Perhaps he had another reason for the aphrodisiac," Imamu wondered aloud, smiling at his wife. "If all of these couples simply want to leave, they will not stay to outbid him. There must be an item he really wants this year in the bunch from the private donors."

A minute later, T.L. Laurant rose again to the podium. "I see the aphrodesiac has had an effect on some of you," he said, laughing. "It should be in effect by now, and should last for six hours, or so I'm told."

Castiel shifted uncomfortably, and Dean threw him an annoyed look. There was really no reason for the angel to be sitting closer to the amalgamation that was Justin and Tyler than to him. T.L. had been correct – he was definitely turned on, and it was taking all of his concentration not to reach out to the angel. Still, he was a far cry from attempting to make out with him. It wasn't like the ballroom was full of people suddenly spurred on to orgies.

"It might be a good time for dancing," T.L. continued. "In about a half hour we'll open up the doors for the auction, and in an hour we'll get started with the bidding. I know some of you weren't planning on staying for the auction, and for those of you, feel free to leave a donation to one of the museums in the box near the door. I thank you humbly for coming, and hope you'll attend once more to share my love and passion for these items."

Justin and Tyler headed for the dance floor at the other end of the ballroom, laughing and holding hands. Imamu took his wife's hand, and with a small smile led her to the dance floor as well, the service dog close on her other side.

"I'm going to use the men's room," said Castiel.

"Dude, you don't pee," snapped Dean icily, but Castiel was already gone.

Sighing, Dean looked around. There were quite a few couples crowding the dance floor. Three couples stood in front of the door to the auction items, where they were being held back by uniformed men. One couple was attempting to sneak upstairs.

Dean had seriously intended to give Castiel his space, but the truth was that he was quickly realizing that he was the only non-coupled person remaining in the room. T.L. Laurant himself caught Dean's eye and gave him a look that Dean recognized as meaning "I'm worried that you're not having fun at my party… where's your significant other?"

Also, Dean had to pee. Moreover, he realized that he simply missed Castiel. That was probably due to the aphrodisiac.

Dean found Castiel on a bench outside of the bathroom, moaning into his hands. As Dean approached, Castiel looked up, startled. "What's wrong with you, man?" Dean asked, annoyed.

Castiel appeared to stutter for a second, as if lost for words. "Angel… Amore," he finally ground out, wincing. He seemed to be trying to shrink backward into the wall, and Dean had to lean in to hear what he was saying. When he did, Castiel moved even farther back.

Dean threw up his hands in frustration. "Cas, I'm _fine._ There's nothing _wrong_ with me." He leaned in again, despite Castiel's frightened look, and said, "It's a little aphrodisiac, but I'm fine, man. I'm just trying to keep up appearances. That's all."

But Castiel just looked even more miserable, and shifted on the bench. "Dean," he ground out. He looked up at Dean, and Dean was startled, suddenly by the look in his eyes – one of longing.

"Dean, it's… it's called 'Angel Amore' for a reason."


	3. The Miserable Angel

**Author's Note: I didn't really plan to to do the sex pollen thing, but I needed a plot device that went faster than "slow burn." And then I still ended up writing a multi-chapter fic anyway, so, whatever.**

**I don't own Supernatural.**

Castiel could barely hear anything over the thrumming of his veins. _Dean, Dean, Dean._ It wouldn't honestly be so bad if Castiel hadn't been in love with his charge for as long as he could remember.

Even before he had known what his feelings meant, he had been in love with Dean. At first, it had been about trying to protect him. He had convinced himself that his feelings were natural responses to the fact that Dean was the "righteous man", and that he had rescued him from Hell.

In Purgatory, Dean had seemed more comfortable touching him more often, and vice versa. This had made Castiel very happy, and he cherished their time together in Purgatory, though he had never felt comfortable admitting it. He was sure that Dean's behavior in Purgatory had been more about Dean's need for human contact, human interaction, than about love, but Castiel had reveled in it just the same. When Dean had left – that had been his true penance.

It had only been when Castiel had spent time as a human that he had finally recognized his feelings for Dean as love – and not just any love, but a sexual one. When he could no longer will away his vessel's response to Dean's nearness – when he lost control of the angelic part of his mind, which began to fantasize about his friend – then he had finally understood.

Castiel thought sometimes that Dean might feel something for him, too. Very, very rarely the hunter looked at him so intensely that Castiel felt sure there was something there. But then, just as quickly, the look was gone, and they were once again killing monsters and fighting for their lives, and Dean was sleeping with women – not just women, but women who were human, and usually women who were slutty and who he would never see again.

So Castiel had resolved a long time ago that the only thing he would receive from Dean was his friendship. And this was okay, because, as an angel, Castiel once again had control over both his vessel and his mind, and so he was happy with things as they were.

Until now.

"But… you didn't drink any!" said Dean. He looked halfway between irritated and alarmed, with more than a touch of confusion.

"Doesn't matter," said Castiel adjusting himself yet again. He was relieved that his vessel happened to be wearing underwear that at the very least seemed to allow for some ability to hide his body's reaction to Dean's nearness. He knew this wasn't something either of them wanted to deal with tonight, especially Dean. If Dean _was _attracted to him, at all, it was only because of the aphrodisiac he had drank. There was also the possibility of the bond they had forged when Castiel pulled Dean out of hell complicating the situation. It wasn't a strong bond, in the grand scheme of things – Castiel had made sure of that – but it was enough of a bond to ensure that Dean's attraction would feed off of Castiel's.

"Angel Amore was… it was made by demons, long ago," said Castiel miserably. "As a weapon to distract us from an old war."

"So what, it makes it… difficult to be around anyone who drank it?" asked Dean.

Castiel looked at his friend in confusion, and was immediately caught up in his green eyes. There was a bead of sweat going down his friend's neck, and Castiel longed to follow it…

"No," he said, his face burning as his thoughts cleared for a second. "Um, the opposite." Was that what Dean thought? He _had _flinched away from his friend all night… but it was because he hadn't wanted to be anywhere near the temptation…

"So… wait, you want to jump the bones of, like, _everyone here who drank the Angel stuff_?" Dean asked, his eyes suddenly wide. Castiel could hear a smile in his friends' voice.

"I… wouldn't go _that _far," Castiel answered evasively.

Dean began to howl with laughter, and Castiel let out a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, there was a voice behind them. "I am glad to see you are getting along," said T.L. Laurant. "I had worried there for a second. I _do _hope you're not using my bathroom for anything _I _wouldn't use it for." He raised his eyebrows at them.

Castiel immediately blushed, because apparently he had lost complete control of his vessel.

"No, sir, James hasn't been feeling well," lied Dean smoothly. He seemed relieved. "We think the aphrodisiac didn't sit well with his food at first. But now he says he's feeling better, and it's working as it's supposed to."

Castiel shot an annoyed look up at Dean, who was obviously trying not to laugh. Apparently Castiel being attracted to Dean was _hysterical_… no, that wasn't right, he thought. Dean thought he was attracted to _everyone _who had had the aphrodisiac. Dean didn't realize that he himself had had more of the Angel Amore than literally anyone else at the event (Castiel could tell). Nor did he realize that the fact that Castiel was already in love with him made the effect stronger.

"Lovely!" said T.L. Laurant. "I'd hate for you to miss out on the dancing. I know you said when we emailed how much you _loved_ galas where you could dance, Mr. Cannon."

Castiel's brain short-circuited. _Dancing _with _Dean_? _Now?_ He honestly didn't think he could handle that.

Still, the two had no choice but to follow T.L. back to the ballroom.

Once they arrived, T.L. headed to a different corner of the room, but Castiel could still feel the man's eyes on him.

Then he heard Dean's voice like honey, soft in his ear. "You okay, man? Do you wanna bail? Try to fight our way out?"

Castiel shrank backward from Dean, because it was the only way to avoid taking his arm. With Dean's words, however, Castiel remembered: _The Rod of Aaron, and the Staff of Moses. Amara…_

"No," he finally said, steeling himself and willing away his body's reaction to Dean's nearness. "No, I will be okay. Let's dance."

He reached out to touch Dean's hand, and the other man pulled him into his arms. It was odd – the few times that Castiel had fantasized about a situation like this, Dean always seemed far less sure of himself, far less willing… but perhaps that was the Angel Amore. Dean held him tightly, but he also held his hips far enough away that Castiel couldn't tell whether or not he was erect, for which he was grateful. It didn't matter anyway, because Castiel felt as though his mind had exploded simply from finally being in Dean's arms. The song was slow, and Castiel felt Dean brushing his hand along his neck, over his hairline and slightly under his collar. It felt like that area was on fire.

"So… when you're, like, not affected by an aphrodesiac, are you ever… you know, do you ever want… something like this?" Dean asked. "With… someone?"

There was something odd in Dean's voice, Castiel registered. It was lower, huskier than usual. He must be responding to the Angel Amore, as Castiel had predicted. The angel held back a shiver of pleasure. "I've… wanted, yes," said Castiel slowly. "Not as… potent… as a human, perhaps, at least… not until now, but I've…"

There was something in Dean's eyes, Castiel realized. A sort of vulnerability.

Dean nodded, dropping his head momentarily, and his cheek brushed against Castiel's. It took all of Castiel's willpower to keep himself from surging forward into Dean. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything, or anyone, so badly.

"Not… until… now?" Dean asked, his breath hitting Castiel's face.

Castiel's blood froze, just briefly, when he realized his mistake. As quickly as it froze, however, Castiel seemed to melt, because the feeling of being in Dean's arms was simply too overwhelming, too _much_ for him to care about what he said at that exact moment. The consequences would come later, and he could keep his erection away from Dean, and he could explain it all away later, just as long as he could have one more damn minute of _this_, with their breaths mingling - …  
Then Dean surged forward and caught Castiel's lips in a brief kiss. His lips were soft, achingly sweet, and then it was over.

The moment it was over, it felt as though cold water had been thrown on Castiel. How long had he wanted this, but…

Castiel loosened his hold on Dean, because they were still keeping up pretenses, and because the Angel Amore wouldn't allow him to let go completely. "You're… it's just the Angel Amore," said Castiel. His voice came out whinier than he would've liked.

But Dean shook his head. Castiel saw his eyes, still so clear. Still sober, not sloshy and confused like Castiel felt.

Then Dean leaned forward so that his lips were touching the shell of Castiel's ear. "No, Cas. It's always been you."

Castiel shivered. And he knew, somewhere, that he was too overwhelmed, that this was too good to be true. But it didn't matter, and he surged until he was fully in Dean's arms. Dean pulled him tightly against him, until they could both feel each other's hardness, which was nowhere near what either of them wanted, _needed - …_

"Look, the auction room is open!" someone said nearby.

It was once again as though a bucket of ice water had been dropped on Castiel's head. _Horn of Aaron, Staff of Moses…_

"Come on, Dean," he said, and his voice was mercifully normal again. He didn't let go of Dean's hand, because the Angel Amore wouldn't allow it, but he _did_ extricate himself from Dean's arms and tug gently on his hand in the direction of the auction room. Dean looked mildly put out, but obediently followed him.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

"They're real," breathed Castiel a few seconds later. He recognized the hint of magic coming from the staff and the rod. More importantly, he recognized them from Heaven. He wondered how they had wound up here, of all places.

It was the first time during that night that he had thought of anything other than _DeanDeanDean_, though he was still painfully hard and his hand still securely in the hunter's. It wasn't meant to last, however – as soon as they had moved on from the rod and the staff, Castiel felt his mind drift back to Dean. He wanted to find a secluded corner and rake his hands through Dean's hair…

The looked around a bit more, then Dean led Castiel to a bench in the far corner of the ballroom where they wouldn't be easily overheard. They sat close together on the bench, and Castiel felt the electric current where Dean's leg touched his own.

"They're real then?" Dean asked in a low voice, making Castiel shiver again.

"What's real?" Castiel asked. He was having trouble thinking with Dean's face so close to his.

"Cas! Man, focus! Damn, this Angel Amore stuff really did get to you."

"I'm… I'm sorry Dean," Castiel said, pulling himself out of a haze. He thought for a moment, and forced himself to move farther away from Dean, though he continued to hold his hand.

"Yes, they're real," he said. "And they're being sold for much lower than they might be, much lower even than I expected."

"It's a good thing, too," said Dean. "We're going to need to bid on the Basano vase as well."

"The what?" Castiel asked, his head swimming again. He wanted so badly to reach up and touch Dean's face again...

"The Basano vase," Dean said. "It's a cursed object. It's got no business going home with anyone else."

Castiel didn't really comprehend, but what Dean said sounded good, so he nodded. Surely there would be kissing again at some point, more touching. Why were they sitting so far apart? He moved closer to Dean once more, leaning into him and kissing his neck.

"Cas," Dean said, and it was both a plea and a warning. Dean moved his neck out of Castiel's reach, though he didn't move away. "We're in public." His voice was husky, and shot straight to Castiel's groin.

"So let's go upstairs," said Castiel. There was nothing but _DeanDeanDean…_

"_Cas," _Dean said again, sharper. He moved Castiel away from him and took both of his arms, forcing Castiel to look into his eyes. He took a shuddering breath. "Man, I've waited for this for a long time. And I don't know… I don't know what I want, or how we're gonna make this work. But what I do know is that when we get out of here and get you cured of the Angel Amore, if you still want to, just let me know and we can do everything you're trying to start right now. Okay?"

Something pulled at Castiel's emotions, and that caused it to be easier for him to rise above the power of the Angel Amore.

"Yeah?" he whispered hopefully.

"Yeah," said Dean, cupping Castiel's chin.

Castiel again attempted to move forward, but Dean stopped him once again. "Not while you're like this. If we do this, it needs to be… it needs to be real."

Castiel understood, but moved uncomfortably against the strain in his pants. Dean followed the movement, his eyes hooded, and Castiel didn't miss this. "It's real, Dean," he said, moving closer to Dean's ear, and it was Dean's turn to shiver this time. "I've wanted you since… since forever… Before I even understood…

Castiel caught Dean's lips in a kiss, and this time Dean didn't pull away. Stars exploded in front of Castiel's eyes, and his hands moved up to brush Dean's stubble. Dean gave a moan and bit at Castiel's bottom lip.

"Have some decorum!" said a very French accent suddenly, and Castiel recognized the butler's voice with irritation.

Dean broke apart from Castiel as though burned, but gave the butler a wolfish grin. "Sorry, man," he said.

The butler walked away, shaking his head and muttering about "damn potions."

Dean's eyes were hooded, and his lips were red from kissing. Castiel's heart swelled, and though he hadn't thought it was possible, he realized that he was actually even harder.

"How do we cure the Angel Amore?" Dean asked, his voice still lower than usual.

"'Should go away in a few hours," said Castiel, not really focusing.

"Good," said Dean, "because I-…"

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a voice from the front of the room. It was TL. Laurant. "I hope you have had a wonderful evening full of dancing and romancing. Now, however, it is time for the auction!"


	4. Under the Table

**Author's Note: Thanks again to my wonderful beta's! Regarding the Basano vase auction: the legend is real. BUT, I'm from America and know literally nothing about euros and lira. The vase in question sold for 4 million lira in 1988, so hopefully the conversions are right and Crowley was paying more than peanuts for it. If it's wrong, blame the internet. Also, leave reviews!**

**I don't own Supernatural. If I did, Cas would get his wings back.**

Dean was a whirlwind of emotions.

Most prominently among them was the obvious effects of the Angel Amore, which Castiel had only made worse. There was a large part of him that couldn't wait for this entire mission to be over so that he could see if Castiel was as good as his word. If the angel _did _want to sleep with him, after _all _this time… well, he was _definitely _ready.

On the other hand, he wasn't so far gone as Castiel, and he had several large worries about the consequences of jumping into such a thing. The first priority was the mission of course. But after the mission, then what?

They would have to wait for the Angel Amore to wear off, of course. Dean had committed various degrees of taking advantage of a variety of different women in the past, but he had never been the type of guy who liked to sleep with a woman when she was drunk or high or under the influence (well, not _that_ far under the influence, he amended to himself).

This would create a problem, because clearly Castiel had no control over himself. The things the angel was saying and doing were not for Sam's eyes, and certainly not for Crowley's.

And then what? What would Castiel say when he no longer had the Angel Amore? Would he still have feelings for Dean, or were they simply a manifestation of the drug? Dean didn't think so, but he couldn't be sure.

More than anything, it was a lot to take in. When they'd started on this mission, Castiel and Dean barely even touched, and Dean had never voiced allowed his feelings for the angel, not even to Sam, and much less to Castiel himself.

Now, however… now was a different story.

For the auction, everyone returned to the seats they had sat in for their dinner. Prisha and Imanu were back, once again taking up more than half of the space at the table between his large body and her service dog. Dean no longer minded being close to Castiel, however. So long as he could keep control of his angel friend, a small part of him wanted to appreciate Castiel's advances while he still could.

Justin and Tyler were back as well, both with rosy smiles and looking very smug about something. Dean had a feeling that they had found a broom closet during the past hour of dancing, and he felt vaguely jealous of them.

The first item to be auctioned off was a demon knife similar to Dean's own. It occurred to Dean that he could use another demon-killing knife, but, to be honest, he already had an extra angel blade, and the cursed vase, the staff, and the rod were the priorities. Only Justin and a frail-looking female across the room seemed interested in the demon knife, so Dean figured the auction would go quickly.

Just as they began to introduce the knife, Dean felt, to his surprise, a hand roll over his crotch. He was instantly aroused, and he looked in shock toward Castiel, who was sending him a wide smile.

"Cas…" he whispered, but Castiel made shushing motions, gesturing to the other two couples at the table, who were otherwise engaged. Imanu was engaged in a conversation with Prisha in low voices, and the two men were bidding on the demon knife.

Dean sucked in a breath as Castiel's hand rolled over his erection again, more insistent this time. It wasn't as though they were having sex, Dean reasoned through a fog of arousal. Hell, he still had his pants on, even. If Castiel wanted to jerk him off under the table well… yeah, that would be fucking _magical. _Plus, protesting the situation would alert the others at the table.

Dean resituated slightly, making sure the table cloth hung down over his now prominent erection and Castiel's hand. Their backs were to the wall, so the likelihood of them being seen was very little. As the price for the demon knife went up, Castiel continued his ministrations. He faced straight front and didn't look at Dean, but his small concentrated smile let Dean know that the angel was still mostly focused on him. Dean sank down farther in his seat to give Castiel more room, and, with a careful look around him, closed his eyes briefly, allowing the pleasure to wash over him fully.

"The next item is the Basano vase!" said the auctioneer, a large woman with a flouncy green dress.

Dean sat up in his seat, throwing Castiel's hand off of him. The angel gave him an annoyed look.

"This beautiful vase was made from carved silver in the 15th century, and is the object of Italian folklore that still continues to frighten and inspire," said the announcer. "It was originally made for an Italian bride as a wedding gift in a Northern village close to Napoli, but she was murdered before she could make it down the aisle, with the vase in her hand. After that, the vase has left…"

But Dean was having trouble listening, as he realized that the zipper on his fly was lowering of its own accord. "Cas!" his hissed, causing Imanu and Prisha to look at him briefly. Across the table, however, they couldn't see what was going on, and went back to watching the proceedings and talking amongst themselves.

Cas shot Dean a victorious look, and Dean's zipper continued its progress south..

…"Have, however, authenticated the vase, and…"

The front of Dean's pants curled downward and his erection sprang forward from his boxers.

"We'll start the bidding at two thousand euros," said the announcer.

Dean raised his hand, and he held back a moan from his throat as Castiel's hand fastened around his erection. His grasp was firm yet gentle, and Dean forced himself to stay alert.

There were two other hands raised, a frail-looking woman in the back and another African gentleman near the front.

"Any advances on two thousand euros?"

"Two thousand five hundred euros," said Dean. His voice was throaty. Castiel drug his hand up and down Dean's length, twisting slightly, and Dean let out a grunt that he turned into a cough.

"Two thousand seven hundred," said the African gentleman, and Dean saw vaguely that the frail woman was shaking her head.

Castiel began pumping in earnest, and Dean gripped his thighs to keep from thrusting up into his friends' hand.

"T-Two thousand eight hundred," said Dean. Jesus, he was going to blow like a teenager in this room full of a hundred people…

The African gentleman was silent.

"Any advances on two thousand eight hundred euros?" asked the auctioneer.

_Castiel…_

"Sold, to the gentleman in the back!"

Dean exploded, stars staining the back of his vision. Castiel removed his (slightly wet) hand from under the table and clapped with everyone else. Dean waited until the auctioneer had begun to auction the next item, then leaned backward and closed his eyes, trying to gain his breath.

He could feel a wet spot on his pants, but just as he became aware of it, he felt that it was dry again. Meanwhile his now-softening penis was tucking itself back into his underwear, and his zipper was once again making headway in an upward direction.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

It was a full thirty seconds before Castiel finally leaned toward Dean at the table. "Thoughts?" he asked in a low voice.

Dean was still slightly out of breath. He wasn't really listening to the auction anymore, but he tuned in every so often. "The next item is Gungnir, said to be Odin's staff from long ago. It matches…"

Dean tuned out again. Gungnir was worthless without Odin, whom Lucifer had killed six years prior. "There are… no… no words, man," he whispered to the angel.

Castiel gave Dean a wide smile, then twitched uncomfortably. "Dean, I need… I need…"

Dean looked at his friend. His eyes were wide and jet-black, and he could see the pain on his friends' face.

He briefly considered his options. Justin and Tyler were currently speaking in low voices with T.L. Laurant across the room. Judging by their body language, Dean was able to ascertain that they were bidding their host good-bye. The demon knife was held preciously in Justin's right hand, in an old-looking scabbard. Prisha and Imanu were currently engaged in the bidding war for Gungnir.

"You gotta promise not to hate me later," Dean said, leaning over to whisper in his friends' ear.

"I could never hate you," Castiel said seriously with a shudder.

Dean smiled at him, his heart skittering madly. "Look, man, if we do this, you gotta be quiet, okay?"

"I'll be quiet, Dean," Castiel said in a hopeful voice, shifting uncomfortably once more.

Dean smiled again, and gently let his right hand slip under the table. His scooted closer to Castiel in his seat so that they were touching, his right side to Castiel's left.

"Next up is a relic from the Chinese god of-…"

Boring.

Dean traced his hand over Castiel's midsection and felt his prominent bulge, achingly hard. He brushed his hand over it and Castiel twitched, his chair leg scraping loudly across the floor. Prisha regarded them briefly, but Dean remembered that she was blind and so could not see his friends' slackened face and closed eyes.

Dean removed his hand, and Castiel sent him a desperate look. "I'm out of options here. We can't be kicked out before we get the staff and the rod. You gotta -…"

But Castiel had taken Dean's hand again and placed it on himself, thrusting up into it quietly. His jaw was set and his blue eyes were determined, and Dean could tell that he understood.

Dean curled his hand over Castiel's length and pressed downward, and this time there was no sound or movement aside from Castiel's soft intake of breath. The angel put his own hand over Dean's and nudged his zipper down, and Dean felt his friend at last, painfully erect.

"Next we have a weapon from the ancient society-…"

Nope.

Castiel's erection was hot in Dean's hand and already starting to drip beads of pre-cum from the tip. Dean began to pump, and Castiel gave a very small start, though not enough to attract attention. His friend was resolutely keeping his eyes open, but they had become glassy and unfocused.

Dean leaned into Castiel's ear once more, twisting him just a little. "It'll be different later, I promise, if you still want," he said in a low voice. "We can do whatever you want." He sped up his thrusts, and Castiel's breathing sped up as well.

"Next up is an item from 1498…"

Nope. The time period was far too late.

In all of the times Dean had imagined being with Castiel in this way, he had never imagined it like this – under a table, as quick as possible, during a black-tie event. Still, he smiled at the unfocused, glassy-eyed look on his friend's face, the slight sweat beading on his brow, his hard breathing...

Dean realized that he was already beginning to harden once again. He turned his torso toward Castiel and slid his left hand over Castiel's thigh. "Come for me, Cas," he said in a low voice.

Castiel came with a giant exhale, and Dean smiled proudly, pumping his friend through his aftershocks. The unraveling of the Angel of the Lord was a beautiful sight, and Dean wondered briefly why it had taken this long for something to happen between them.

Dean wiped his hand on the tablecloth and then put it up on the table again. He then turned to watch his friend with slight trepidation as reality began to creep back in to Castiel's blue eyes.

Castiel was silent at first. Dean saw the emotions flick across Castiel's face – horror, understanding, shame, resolution. Castiel leaned closer to him. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-…"

"Cas, it's not-…"

Both of them stopped, staring with wide eyes.

Finally, Castiel started again. "I don't have long," he whispered. "It'll come back. It won't be out of my system for a few hours yet. You need to make sure I - …"

"Next we have the Rod of Aaron and the Staff of Moses!" yelled the announcer, and Dean and Castiel both turned expectantly, Castiel wincing at the interruption.

"We don't know much about these, of course, but both seem to date back to around 1600 BC, which would be the correct time period," said the announcer. "They were donated by a private donor, a Sir Balthazar of Paris, arranged to be auctioned off in the event of his death. They were left with a note in the old language of Enochian, which some say is the language of the angels. Are they real?

"Either way, they're very nearly priceless. We're starting off at 1 million euros for the set."

No less than eight hands went up, including Dean's, and Castiel's.

"You do it," said Castiel, meeting Dean's eyes for only a second. Dean recognized shame in ice blue eyes staring back at him.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

The auction was the longest one yet, lasting the better part of 10 minutes. Ultimately the set went for 51 million euros, to Dean.

Castiel had been quiet during the auction and not so much as looked at Dean. Dean could feel several eyes on him, however – at least three of the losers of the staff and rod were glaring daggers at him.

"Let's get the hell out of here, Cas," he whispered to his friend, and Castiel obediently rose from the table, still not looking at Dean.

The two of them headed toward what had previously been the room where the auction pieces were being shown off. Now, the financier was stationed there, with a small table and a tablet. The financier was an older gentleman with piercing blue eyes.

"How are you doing?" Dean asked Castiel in a low voice.

"It's getting worse again," Castiel said, moving away from Dean. "Let's get out of here. When we're out, have Crowley take me back to the bunker dungeon and chain me up."

Dean looked back at him with shock. "Why?" he said, alarmed.

Castiel looked up at Dean with pleading eyes, and Dean got only a second of warning before Castiel had pinned him against the wall with his arm. "You shouldn't have to see me like this!" the angel exclaimed softly, his voice full of panic. "I've been more than enough trouble tonight! Promise me!"

Dean was caught off guard. "Uh, okay, I promise!" he said in defeat, because there was really nothing else to say, and his back was literally against the wall.

"Good," said Castiel, and he walked into the room where the financier was waiting without another word, his mouth set in a hard line.


	5. Dreaming of an Angel

**Author's Note: I'm sure you've all heard the news...**

**Remember, Family don't end with blood. Just because the show is leaving doesn't mean we have to stop writing.**

**I don't own Supernatural. If I did, I would be responsible for deciding whether Supernatural is going to "shit or get off the pot" regarding Destiel over the next 12 months, and I'd probably die from the stress. It's much easier to just write about it. I don't envy someone that decision. Have fun being hated by half of the fandom either way.**

By the time Dean was finished with the financier, he could tell Castiel had once again lost his mind to the Angel Amore. He had attempted to grab Dean's ass no less than 3 times in front of the financier, and his penis twice. By the time he flagged down Crowley's limo, Dean was sporting a partial erection and a somewhat irritable mood. He could still feel the effects of the Angel Amore, but they had dulled considerably in the wake of navigating the auction and the prospect of dealing with Sam and Crowley.

Still, he wheeled behind him (in suitcases that themselves looked more expensive than the suit he normally wore when pretending to be an FBI agent) the Basano vase, the Rod of Aaron, and the Staff of Moses.

"Look, Cas," Dean said to his best friend. "Crowley is meeting us outside. Can you please, _please_ just lay off the sexy stuff for, like, 2 minutes? I'll get Crowley to teleport us back to the bunker, and I'll... lock you up like I promised, I guess." He still hadn't figured out what he was going to tell Sam, but perhaps he could sneak into the bunker around his brother, lock up Castiel, and then head Sam off at the pass. It was unlikely, but it was as good a plan as any.

"Like with whips and chains?" said Castiel, looking slightly scared.

"Whips and – no, man, no whips and chains, okay? You made me promise to lock you up until the Angel Amore wears off!" Dean said, derailing that train of thought before it could get any farther.

"I don't see how that would be helpful," Castiel mused, his hands skittering down Dean's sides.

Great, now Dean had a _full _erection. His downstairs and upstairs brain were seriously not on the same page today.

"Just give me two minutes with _no touching _and _no talking sexy_," Dean implored his friend, taking his hands and looking into his ice blue eyes. "_Please?"_

Castiel pouted, but a bit of clarity came back into his eyes for just a second. He said, "Yes, Dean."

"Okay, good," said Dean as the two entered into the starlit sky.

A black limo pulled up next to them and Crowley's face poked out. Dean shoved Castiel in by the tails of his suit jacket, and climbed in behind him with the suitcases.

"Look, Cas is kind of sick-…" Dean started to say, but Crowley cut him off.

"I should say so," Crowley said, staring at the angel. "He's lit up like a Christmas tree from the inside. I haven't seen anything like that since-… No! Is that Angel Amore?"

"Yes! Dean snapped. And it's-…"

A wide grin spread across Crowley's face. "I heard rumors there might be something of that sort at the party, but I never could've dared _dream_…"

"Right, well, don't dream of anything," snapped Dean. "Look, here's the Rod of Aaron, I'm taking the Staff of Moses like we agreed, just take me to the bunker." He shoved one of the suitcases into Crowley's waiting arms and tightened his hold on the other two.

But Crowley didn't move, and instead continued to stare at Dean and Castiel with a twisted grin.

"It's been two minutes, Dean," Castiel said huskily, his hand running up Dean's arm.

"Tell me, Dean, has your angel ever been laid, or will you be his first?" asked Crowley, his eyes following Castiel's hands.

"He's drugged, you red-eyed bastard," Dean grumbled, shaking off the angel. "We did your dirty work and you got what you came for. Now send us back to the bunker!"

"Your wish is my command," said the demon.

At that point, several things happened very quickly. First, Dean felt the pull behind his navel that he associated with demon transport, and knew he was being transported back to the bunker. Then he was assailed by the familiar smell of the bunker, of books and stale air.

Then, he felt lips on his. Soft, and wonderful…

He froze, his brain short-circuiting. From behind him, there was wolf-whistling and clapping, and Sam's voice saying, "Well, it's about damn time!"

Dean flew around so fast that Castiel toppled over, lips-first onto the floor in the bunker's situation room. The suitcases he was carrying fell onto the floor as well, forgotten in the face of Castiel's very public kiss.

"It's not what it looks like," Dean protested. He realized as he said it how cheesy it must sound.

"Oh, c'mon, Dean," Sam protested as he ran forward to get the suitcases. "I mean, you guys have been making dove-eyes at each other forev – dude, c'mon, I'm gonna hafta bleach my eyes!"

Castiel had begun to kiss Dean's neck in earnest from behind, and Dean fought to push him off.

"Sam, help me get him to the dungeon!" Dean shouted. "He's been drugged! Get the angel cuffs!"

Sam put the suitcases on a nearby shelf and moved forward, taking Castiel by one arm as Dean grabbed his other one. Castiel was still attempting to kiss and grope Dean, and also was now sporting his own very obvious erection. With difficulty, the brothers forced the angel into the dungeon, administered angel cuffs, and shut the door, both sweating and exhausted.

When they turned around, Crowley was still there watching, the suitcase holding the Rod of Aaron still dangling from one of his hands.

"Why are you still here?" snapped Dean.

Crowley laughed cruelly. "Where else would I go that would be this entertaining?"

Dean scowled at the demon, but Sam said, "What's wrong with him?"

"He got dosed by Angel Amore," said Crowley. "Or, more accurately, _Dean_ did. It was a trick demons used to use in battle, though it's fallen out of style in the last couple hundred years. They would feed Angel Amore to humans, or even demons in the general vicinity, and the angels would become distracted so that the demons could gain the upper hand."

"Can you help him?" Dean asked, a threat evident in his voice.

"Couldn't if I wanted to," said Crowley, "which I don't. There's no cure, aside from death, which, as much as I would enjoy it, isn't what I'm guessing you're looking for. But it'll be gone in six hours anyway. Like a bad hooker."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he said. "You got what you came for. Can you _go_ now?"

Crowley straightened his black suit-jacket. "Well, I can see when I'm not 'part of the gang,'" he said. "Keep the suits," he added, waving his hand. "They're probably both covered in angel sperm."

Dean could feel his face reddening. In the next second, Crowley was gone.

Dean was left in the hallway outside of the dungeon with Sam, who was giving him a wide smile. He looked like a two-year old, and Christmas had come early.

"So…" Sam began, grinning. "Are you guys, like, a thing, or…"

"He. Was. Drugged," Dean said simply, and stalked off to his room.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

Five minutes later, a text chimed on Dean's phone. It was from Sam. "Dean, just so you know, I don't care what kind of a relationship you have with Cas. Either way you guys are gonna need to talk about this when the drug leaves his system. I'm gonna hit the bars. Taking Baby. Back sometime tomorrow. Let me know if you need me earlier."

Dean swore loudly. He was all in favor of Sam leaving the bunker for the night, but he kind of wished he hadn't taken Baby.

Dean looked at his watch. It would be two hours before the Angel Amore released its grip on Castiel. He was dead tired. Perhaps it was time for sleep…

_Dean walked slowly down the hall to where Castiel was chained in the dungeon. He could hear the angel's uncomfortable moans getting louder and louder as he approached._

_When he opened the door, the moans stopped suddenly. "Dean?" asked Castiel's voice, and Dean could feel himself already beginning to harden at the angel's desperate need._

_ "__Yeah, it's me," Dean said, walking in to the dungeon._

_Sam had made the angel comfortable – unlike most prisoners, Castiel was given a long length of chain, and so he could walk around most of the room. His hands were bound in front of him in cuffs with angel warding, however. He still wore the dress pants and dress shirt he had worn to the black-tie event, though the pants were unbuttoned and showing off most of a dark red pair of boxers and an obvious erection. The dress shirt was wrinkled and the sleeves were rolled up, the suit nowhere in sight. Castiel's shoes and socks were also lying haphazardly on the floor. His hair stuck up at odd angles. He looked utterly debauched, and Dean thought he had never looked more appealing._

_Castiel walked quickly over to Dean. "Dean, you came for me!" he said. In the next second, his mouth was on Dean's. This time it was more insistent, and less playful. Dean was immediately caught up in the kiss._

_ "__There's no one to stop us here," said Castiel, kissing Dean's neck again at the pulse point. Dean shivered. "Sam's gone out. I heard his footsteps."_

_Castiel was right, and the knowledge of this hit Dean with an overpowering desire, stronger than any he had yet had that night. He wanted to be with Castiel in every way possible, around him, inside him. "Wanted you," he said, dragging Castiel toward him, no longer able to resist. "Forever…"_

_Their erections touched, and Dean moaned into Castiel's mouth. Castiel pushed him back toward the wall, both hands still cuffed in the angel cuffs. "Please," said Castiel, his handcuffed hands yanking at Dean's shirt. "Want you now."_

_Dean shed his shirt on the floor, and Castiel moved in again to close the space. The angel's white dress shirt felt starchy and irritating against the soft skin of Dean's chest, but it was worth it to feel the angel's erection grinding against Dean's own, still concealed by his sleep pants. _

_And Dean was lost to the smell of Castiel, earthy, and everything was so vivid, so unlike a dream-…_

_So real…_

"No!" Dean said, leaping backwards. Castiel frowned at him, moving toward him again to seek what he so desperately needed.

"Not… not like this, Cas. Not here, not now." Dean made a spastic movement toward Castiel as though his middle section hadn't quite made up his mind, then launched himself bodily from the room before he could do something he would regret later.

How had he ended up back in the dungeon with Castiel? Was it the bond created by the Angel Amore? Either way, sleeping again was out of the question. He was still half-hard, though the confused and hurt look on Castiel's face, combined with Dean's own anxiety about the situation, had solved much of that problem for him.

What would Castiel think when he awakened from the state created by the Angel Amore? Would he regret his actions? Would he even want to see Dean? How much of it would he remember?

Dean looked at his watch. If Crowley had been right about the Angel Amore wearing off after six hours, he had perhaps thirty minutes left. Perhaps a shower was in order.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

It felt as though Castiel was regaining consciousness, but in actuality he was simply returning to the correct frame of mind. Thoughts of Dean and sex and desire slowly dulled and were replaced by more relevant concerns, the most urgent of which were "Father, what have I done?" and "What happened to the Staff of Moses?"

Castiel vaguely remembered last seeing the suitcase containing the Staff of Moses, along with the one containing the Basano vase, in Sam's arms shortly before he had been placed in cuffs. They were safe, then. He needed to see the staff, learn if it had still retained its' power… he would have been able to deduce this earlier if he'd been able to concentrate. He needed to see what could be done about getting the Rod of Aaron back from the demon, though at this point his hopes weren't high. He should've recognized the Angel Amore before Dean had drank it. Now, his clumsiness had likely cost Heaven the power of the Rod of Aaron.

And then there was Dean's face when Castiel had kissed him earlier, in front of Sam and Crowley. What had he been thinking?! He had loved Dean for so long, and surely blown it in a single moment, high on Angel Amore. Dean couldn't have meant what he'd said: "_I've waited for this for a long time. And I don't know… I don't know what I want, or how we're gonna make this work. But what I do know is that when we get out of here and get you cured of the Angel Amore, if you still want to, just let me know and we can do everything you're trying to start right now. Okay?"_

But that had just been Dean reacting to the Angel Amore, surely. The bond that had been created when Castiel had pulled Dean out of hell might have exacerbated the effects both for him and for Dean (though he had obviously been the most effected). After all, Dean had only ever claimed to like women. And even if Dean would have been interested in a relationship before Castiel had made a scene in front of Sam and Crowley, he surely wouldn't now.

Castiel's vessel felt heavy and disgusting. He had sweat through all of his clothing. He realized with a start that he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his erection in his frenzy for relief which had never come. Now that the Angel Amore was out of his system, he was still half-hard and frustrated, but also tired and lethargic. Castiel longed to clean both himself and his clothes, but the angel cuffs prevented it at the moment. How long would it be before Dean came to let him out?

Castiel tucked himself back into his pants, trying to remember when exactly he had unzipped and dropped trough. That last hour had been the worst, especially after Dean had disappeared, though he had a feeling he had dropped his pants before that. He slowly put his shoes and socks back on – those, at least, he remembered taking off, shortly after he was handcuffed when his vessel became hot. He pulled at the remainder of his dress shirt, already partway torn, and it came off in long strips.

He was just finishing when Dean came into the room.


	6. The Handprint

**Author's Note: Sorry this has taken FOREVER. Thank you to the couple of people who actually wrote me asking me to update, you guys are amazing. If nothing else, at least the corona finally took enough off of my plate to allow me to get some stuff done. The truth is that writing these types of scenes is super laborious for me. I'm pretty prolific and love writing everything else, but half of the time I'll literally highlight a section and write "insert sex scene here" and then do it at the end right before I publish. On that note, I'm preparing something for the DCBB this year, so if anyone is really good at or really likes writing sex scenes please send me a PM. I literally have an 80-page document right now with five highlighted sections that say "insert sex scene here". I'll give you credit, and cookies, and whatever else. Thanks again to the two people who pushed me into Destiel. Leave comments and reviews, they are my lifeblood. I don't own Supernatural, but if I did I'd be shut down anyway because the corona is stupid.**

Castiel watched Dean's face redden as he took in the angel's state of disarray. He didn't meet Castiel's eyes, nor did he approach the angel. "Hey, Cas," he said softly.

"It's over, Dean," said Castiel without preamble. "Take the cuffs off, please."

Green eyes met blue, then, and Dean looked for something that Castiel couldn't identify. Finally, he nodded and walked over to the angel, once again looking away.

Dean had barely sprung the locks on the handcuffs when Castiel used his grace to clean his vessel. Rumpled, sticky, sweaty clothing once again became clean, the scuffs on his shoes disappeared, and his untidy hair once again fell into place. Dean looked up in surprise, and it was only then that Castiel realized he had never done this in front of his friend before.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel said, and he met Dean's eyes only briefly. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Dude, I was the one that drank the stuff," Dean offered with a small smile. He looked newly showered, and Castiel could smell the shampoo he had used. This made him even more frustrated, and, somehow, even more guilty.

"Yes, but my reaction was out of control," Castiel said, glancing at Dean briefly.

There was the smallest flash of disappointment, but then Dean's face turned stony so quickly that Castiel was almost sure he had imagined it. "It's cool, man," he said.

But the green eyes were still fixed on him. They were almost…

Almost… hopeful…

Then Dean took a small step forward, his face still flaming red.

Castiel matched it, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had been as though this purposeful stride toward his best friend was inconsequential.

Dean took another step forward, his mouth turning up just slightly.

Castiel matched it, shuffling his feet and looking away as though he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going.

Dean took one last, final step, then placed his hands soothingly over Castiel's wrists.

Castiel raised his eyes to meet Dean's, and he knew, suddenly, that they were thinking the same thing: It was time.

When their lips met, it felt like coming home. Dean's lips were chapped but soft, and Castiel melted into them. He had wanted this, of course, but never believed that it would've been possible without the Angel Amore.

Castiel slipped a hand behind Dean's neck into his hair, and felt Dean's hand on the small of his back. Dean moved slowly, backing Castiel into the wall behind him, attacking his mouth with precision, and it was ecstasy.

Castiel hit the wall behind him with a jerk that was hard enough to shake both of them out of what felt like a trance. "You're sure you're okay now?" Dean asked tentatively. Castiel understood that he was being given an "out."

"The Angel Amore is gone from my vessel," Castiel said, looking at Dean tentatively. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were wide and hungry, and he looked debauched. Castiel couldn't have walked away if he tried. Now that he and Dean were on the same page, he felt only determination. "But I still wish to continue."

"Thank God," said Dean, and he dove back toward Castiel, rubbing against him in the process.

"Dean, is here really the best – auuugggghhh!" Castiel couldn't believe the sounds coming out of his own mouth, but Dean felt so good against him.

"Fair point," Dean said, nipping at Castiel's neck and thrusting against him. He grabbed Castiel's hand and pulled, nearly catching the angel off-balance in the process.

The moment they got into Dean's bedroom and closed the door, Dean once again began backing Castiel toward the bed. Dean began shoving at Castiel's trenchcoat. "You didn't have to put this back on, you know," Dean said between kisses.

Castiel thought about protesting, but the thought was banished when Dean's mouth found his again. Dean began tugging on Castiel's suit, and at that point it became obvious what Dean was trying to do. The angel snapped his fingers and both of their clothes disappeared, rearranging themselves into piles in the corner.

Dean's face gave a surprised pout, and he began, "Well that's -…"

Castiel surged forward, groaning when his erection made contact with Dean's flesh.

"That's better," Dean said huskily, thrusting forward himself. Their erections slid against each other, the space between them diminishing, and everything was suddenly hot. Castiel needed _more._ He reached out and fell backward on the bed, pulling Dean with him.

Dean groaned at the contact, bracing his knees around Castiel's middle. He grabbed both of their erections and tugged, letting out another groan of satisfaction.

Castiel hadn't been expecting it, and he surged forward with the spike of pleasure. "Dean!"

"Cas," Dean replied, voice low. His breath mingled with Castiel's, and they moved together in the space of Dean's hand. "We should've done this ages ago…"

Castiel didn't answer, lost to the pleasure coiling inside him. But it was too… there wasn't enough…

And he could sense that Dean felt the same…

"Cas, do you want to-…" Dean began tentatively.

"Yes!" Castiel said, hoping this was going where he wanted it to go.

In response, Dean shot forward in an attempt to reach something next to the bed.

"Dean?" Castiel said, suddenly worried. Perhaps they weren't thinking the same thing, after all.

"We need lube," Dean said, and then he groaned. In his stretch for the table beside his bed, his erection had dangled right in Castiel's face. Castiel had used the opportunity to lick a wide stripe, from base to head.

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean exclaimed, rolling to the side in surprise, the bottle of lubrication dangling from his hand.

Castiel looked at Dean, spread out on his bed with his erection, looking thoroughly debauched. He took the opportunity and climbed on top of him. "I don't need that stuff," he said. "I'm an angel."

"Cas, are you-…" Castiel took Dean in his mouth, and Dean let out a strangled groan. He had never performed fellatio before, but he knew what had felt good with his hand when he had been human. He buried Dean's erection as far into his throat as he could, easily relaxing the muscles in his vessel's throat.

Dean let out his loudest groan yet. "Jesus Christ, Cas!"

Castiel moved off of Dean for long enough to say, "Just my name would be fine, thanks," before returning.

"Sor-sorry, Cas-…" Dean grunted. "You're-… where did you?..."

Castiel continued his ministrations, loving the sounds that Dean made. Finally Dean tapped him on the shoulder. "Cas, I… you've got to stop…"

Castiel pulled off with a loud "pop", concerned.

Dean climbed upward and pushed Castiel's shoulders, and Castiel allowed himself to be rolled underneath Dean. Castiel looked up at Dean curiously.

"If we do this… you're sure we don't need…" Dean began.

"Dean," Castiel said crossly, and in response he grabbed Dean's erection and gave a small tug in the right direction.

"Eager, aren't we," said Dean, but he followed Castiel's lead, still looking skeptical.

He needn't have worried. Castiel could make the necessary preparations as easily as he had magicked their clothes away. When Dean began to shove in unhindered, the look he gave Castiel turned to disbelief, as though he hadn't really believed it possible.

Disbelief changed to incredulity, and Dean slid home, causing both of them to groan with the spike in pleasure.

"You good?" Dean asked.

"Dean," Cas began again, and Dean began thrusting in earnest.

It felt… it felt…

Then Dean changed the angle, and pleasure exploded behind Castiel's eyes. "Dean!"

"Better?" Dean asked, and his thrusts began to become more desperate, more eratic.

Castiel could feel the pleasure coiling tightly…

"Cas, I…" Dean started, and Castiel exploded, his vision whiting out at the edges and his spine snapping to attention.

Dean followed him over the edge with a groan.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

It took a full two minutes before either of them bothered to speak. Finally Dean moved to grab something to wipe off with before Castiel, guessing his intention, held out a towel that had been magically summoned from the bathroom.

"Grace?" Dean asked again, taking the towel. Castiel smiled.

He took a moment to admire Dean's body, sprawled on top of the covers. He looked debauched and thoroughly kissed, his hair sticking up at the back. He looked relaxed, moreso than Castiel had ever seen him before. He had raised this man from Hell, made a mark upon his soul, rebuilt him… and now they had made love.

Dean wasn't ready for that sort of sentiment, Castiel knew. Instead, he fit his hand to Dean's arm, where the handprint had been before.

Dean smiled, understanding the gesture. "Why did you remove it?" he asked cautiously, moving onto his side to face Castiel.

"The… bond is still there," admitted Castiel.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in shock, and he pulled back from Castiel's hand.

"It's not a bad thing," Castiel said in reassurance. "When I brought you back from Hell, I had to use a little of my grace to rebuild you. And when I sent my grace into your body… your soul grabbed back. It left a mark in the form of a handprint… that's all."

"Oh," said Dean, moving back toward Castiel. "Is that why we've always had this… thing?"

"Perhaps," said Castiel, considering. "But you aren't the first human to be raised from Hell, although it is rare. And none of the others have had a… thing."

"Oh," said Dean. He seemed to process for a second. Then he asked again, "Why did you remove it when you healed me? The handprint disappeared, after Stull Cemetary."

"I hid it from your eyes," Castiel admitted. "I didn't think you wanted it."

"I… well if angels can see it anyway, I might as well be able to see it too," Dean said, sounding bitter.

Castiel recognized this for what it was, and he once again placed his hand on Dean's arm. When he removed it, the handprint was once again visible on Dean's skin.

Dean smiled, pulling Castiel closer to him, and gave a sigh of content.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

Three hours later, Dean was snoozing contentedly, still naked. Castiel had once again donned his trenchcoat, but had remained sitting on Dean's bed, his legs stretched out in front of him. Dean had invited him into his bed, and he didn't want to leave, despite his lack of need for sleep.

Suddenly, there was a thump, and several things happened at once. Crowley appeared in the doorway. Castiel stood up immediately and drew his angel blade. Dean woke up with a start and reacted quickly, grabbing his gun from under his pillow with one hand and moving to get up out of bed. Not a second too late, he seemed to realize he was naked and drug half of the bedsheet along with him as he stood, covering his private area with the sheet and one hand.

"Hey, I gave you three whole hours!" Crowley said defensively.

"I'll help you redo the warding later," Castiel said to Dean, "to keep out unwanted characters."

"I thought Sam did it after he was in here the last time," Dean confessed, gritting his teeth. "I was distracted with-…"

"Did you have fun?" Crowley asked, his eyebrows raising.

"It would've been more fun without this interruption," Castiel said.

"What do you want?" Dean asked wearily.

"I just dropped by to tell you that the Staff and the Rod are both duds," Crowley commented. "After I realized the Staff was out of juice, I dropped by and tested the Rod as well." His eyes glittered with malice. "_Also_ a dud."

The demon sighed. "Still, it's not entirely a waste. Looks like you two have been _testing some rods_ as well. Thank Hades, honestly the sexual tension was making both of you less effective -…"

"Goodbye, Crowley," Castiel growled, advancing on him with the angel blade.

"And to think, I did you a favor," said Crowley, but he disappeared.

~ Angel with a Shotgun ~ Angel with a Shotgun ~

Sam didn't come back until the next day, and he didn't say a word to Castiel or Dean about the reason he left.

The next time they went hunting together, he asked for a separate room.


End file.
